Aliens: Insurgency
by TravellinMatt77
Summary: Greg Richardson is a neurophysiologist for the Weyland-Yutani Corporation-aka "The Company". Along with his colleague Tina Radley, he is researching xenomorph brains in the hopes of further understanding their behavior. His bosses just want to use the creatures as bio-weapons against terrorists on Earth, but he wants to prove that they're more than just killing machines.
1. Chapter 1

Aliens: Insurgency

Chapter 1

The title slide read: "Weyland-Yutani Quarterly Report: May 2230" in black letters over a sky-blue background; the company's logo shone in yellow and white in the lower right corner. In front of the screen, Charles Weyland VII held up the clicker like it was the detonation switch to a bomb. Given recent events, it might as well have been. Illuminated by the projector in the otherwise pitch-black room, Weyland took on the aura of a deity. Truth be told, he looked the part. Tall, thin, and with sharp features, the forty-year-old man was regally handsome. His short blond hair was neatly parted to the left, and his Armani suit was impeccably tailored. At the moment, his flinty glare and his cool smile appraised his subjects, scanning the audience to make sure all eyes were on him. Greg Richardson's certainly were. If he had guessed right, this presentation would concern him most of all.

Weyland clicked the button, and the screen changed to a graph. A jagged red line gradually crept higher up the y-axis as the years progressed along the x. In a crisp tenor, Weyland said, "Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, our profits are on the rise."

Another click, and the screen showed an Atmosphere Processing Plant pumping gases into the air of a distant planet. "We continue to sell our terraforming machines to far-off colonies. This corporation is truly building better worlds, and will continue to do so."

The next slide showed a fleet of massive starships resting in a giant hangar. "The manufacturing and sales of starships keep growing at an even pace, and we continue to expand our shipping and transporting businesses into new solar systems."

The slide after that showed a "Bishop" model synthetic operating a forklift in a warehouse. "Synthetics serve nearly every home and business in the known galaxy, and provide vital support to the Colonial Marines and other military factions. All this is well and good, but, of course, that's not why we're here today."

One more slide, and there it was. An adult Xenomorph facing the viewer, its limbs chained to the concrete floor as it crouched in its giant cage. Greg could hear his colleagues shift uncomfortably in their seats, no doubt unsettled by the very sight of the creature. At one time, he would have felt the same way. However, ever since he started working as a neurophysiologist in the Bio-Weapons Division, he'd had to deal with them all day and night. They'd become little more than lab rats to him—hulking, acid-spraying lab rats.

"Take a good, long look, ladies and gentlemen," Weyland said, as some of those ladies gasped with disgust. "This is the future of bio-warfare. The Xenomorph XX121—the fiercest alien organism known to humankind. After decades of research into its physiology, and refinement of our training techniques, we're effectively able to control the beasts. Gone are the days when we sacrificed our employees as test victims, for breeding or hunting purposes. For one thing, we now we have clones for that. For another, we've conditioned the creatures to kill on command, through a well-honed punishment-reward system. We've also manufactured artificial Xenomorph pheromones, which all employees wear as the ultimate defense against an unprovoked attack."

Weyland paused to sweep his arms in a gesture that encompassed the entire room. "But what good are our achievements if we cannot profit from them? And that is why I'm pleased to announce that we've just secured a major contract with the Unites States military."

An audible, collective gasp pierced the silence in the room, and Weyland raised his palms to quell the sudden disturbance.

"I know," he said in a patronizing tone. "How did we manage to do it, and why? Why, when we control the Colonial Marines? Unfortunately, the Marines have limited jurisdiction back on Earth, and besides, we pay their salaries. This corporation needs outside funding to survive, and it turns out that Earth is in desperate need of our services. World War III destabilized Asia, and World War IV ravaged Europe. Radical Islamic militants now control half of the countries on those continents, and threaten to control several more. Further, pollution and other environmental degradation has made most landscapes unfit for human habitation. Most societies' personal respiration systems are severely outdated, due to their beliefs that the air would always be safely breathable. I don't know whether they were naïve or just stupid, but the damage has been done. So, in addition to equipping the military—and, eventually, civilians—with the latest respiratory technology, we will be providing it with hundreds of Xenomorph soldiers to kill the militants. Unlike human soldiers, Xenomorphs can thrive in inhospitable environments. They are also faster, more ruthless, and unencumbered by inconvenient urges."

A hand went up in the audience.

"Yes?" Weyland asked politely.

"Yeah, so, do Xenomorphs even _need_ to eat?" the confused man asked. "I mean, we've seen them kill, but they usually just leave their victims for dead, right?"

"You are partially correct," Weyland said thoughtfully. "A Xenomorph's primary motivation for killing seems to be simply instinct. However, some of our scientists have observed the creatures feasting on a human volunteer within a controlled laboratory environment."

Off to the right, Greg heard another man mutter, "Geez, gives whole new meaning to 'offering your body to science'."

Weyland clearly didn't hear him, because he continued, "Of course, I don't expect most of you to know that, because it's not common knowledge. However, I soon expect _all_ of you to become intimately familiar with the Xenomorphs, if you are not already. Our Sales Division will need to tout the creatures' many virtues when speaking to our clients. Our Special Services Division will need to understand the creatures' functioning, in order to monitor the Bio-Weapons Division's activities. And, of course, the Bio-Weapons Division will need to know the creatures' anatomies and physiologies, in order to modify them to our needs. Now, your supervisors will provide you with more specific details, but let me tell you this. This contract will offer us the biggest opportunity yet to prove just how vital the Xenomorphs are in obtaining and maintaining control of human-inhabited territories. They are not just killing machines. In the right hands, in _our_ hands, we can use them as weapons for the greater good. Keep that in mind as you go about your work. That will be all."

The lights came on, and Greg stood up and stretched. It was a short meeting, but an early one—too early. Seven a.m. to be precise. The Weyland-Yutani Corporation had a reputation for cruel and unethical business practices, but no one ever talked about the ungodly work hours. As he and his co-workers shuffled out of the conference room, Rick Metzger sidled up to him. With his slicked-back brown hair, grey Brooks Brothers suit, and ramrod-straight posture, he looked like a preening peacock. He sometimes acted like one, too.

"Wow, can you believe that guy?" Rick asked incredulously, his wide mouth stretching into a toothy grin. "You'd think those Bugs were the Holy Grail."

"Yeah," Greg said non-committally. This early in the morning, he wasn't in the mood for conversation. "And just as dangerous."

"Right," Rick said, slapping Greg on the back. "'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'. And all that shit. Hey, I'm gonna hit the head. You coming with?"

"Sure."

So they veered off to the closest restroom, then straight for the urinals. As they whizzed, Rick resumed their conversation.

"God, I respect the guy, but Weyland must be dreaming if he thinks he can control those creepy fuckers," Rick said, respectfully looking up at the ceiling. "You work with them, so you know, right?"

"I'll agree that they're creepy as hell, but I can't speak to controlling them," Greg said. "They're usually dead when they get to me."

"Lucky bastard," Rick said with a shake of his head, before shaking his dick, as well.

"No shit," said a female voice from their left.

It was Nicolette Fletcher, Executive Vice-President of Special Services and a stone-cold ice queen. What did she want? Greg and Rick weren't surprised to see her, because the restrooms had been co-ed since the corporation's founding in 2099. According to the Weylands, there could be no segregated rooms in company facilities, because any segregation created discord among employees. Solidarity bred success, and all that rhetoric. However, they _were_ surprised to see her step up to a urinal.

"Those things give me the willies," she said with a toss of her long blonde locks, as she unbuttoned and unzipped the fly of her navy-blue pants. As the men looked on in shock, she took … something out of her left pocket and put it where a "willy" would have been. "I think he's foolish for wanting to weaponize them. They're wild animals, not pets. Still, I admire his balls, as well as his vision. He knows what he wants, and pursues it until it's his, no matter how reckless the proposition."

Greg and Rick continued to stare at Nicolette as she pissed, while she sighed contentedly. And Greg knew it wasn't just an act, because he could faintly hear the fluid as it hit the porcelain.

Turning to look at Greg, she said, "Keep me posted on the progress of your research. You're in Neurophysiology, right? If there's any hope of controlling the Bugs, understanding their minds will be crucial. If there's anything there to understand."

She chuckled at that little joke, then shook her … thing and put it back in her pocket. As the toilet flushed and Nicolette walked off to wash her hands, Rick turned to Greg and whispered, "What the fuck was that all about?"

"I wish I knew," Greg said with a shrug. "One thing's for sure, I think we need to keep an eye on her."

"I'm fine with that," Rick said lasciviously, leering at Nicolette as she walked out the door. "She's got a _great_ ass."

Yes, Rick was an asshole, but he was Greg's asshole … figuratively speaking, of course. As for Nicolette, Greg knew she was wrong about the Xenomorphs. They were more than just intelligent killing machines. And he and his colleagues were so close to discovering how.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Greg walked down the long hallway of the Bio-Weapons Division wing, toward his laboratory near the far end. His closest colleague—Tina Radley—was meeting him there, to demonstrate her progress in researching neuromuscular connections in the xenomorphs. This research was perhaps most imperative to the bigwigs of Weyland-Yutani, because it could allow them to "remote-control" the creatures. That is, if the gadget lab could ever invent a contraption that could connect nerves to the control system, _and_ remain fixed to the creatures' bodies. At the moment, that prospect seemed a long ways from fruition. In the meantime, then, he and Tina would continue their research, and hope it would lead to a breakthrough.

He was really looking forward to seeing Tina again, but not for the reasons you might think. Yes, relationships were common among the employees, and the executives even encouraged them. From scientists' research on lesser primates, they knew that sex reduced stress and social tension between males and females—two major barriers to productivity. So they figured that sexual relationships would lead to more harmonious collaborations, and further build solidarity among employees. Some of those employees even took matters a step further, and established open sexual relationships within an entire laboratory. Greg heard that Endocrinology was getting it on with each other, but he never dropped by to check. He wasn't interested in fucking his co-workers. Besides, his relationship with Tina wasn't like that. They were just friends. Close friends, but friends nonetheless.

Greg reached the end of the hallway, and stood in front of the retinal scan at his lab's entrance. Once it recognized him, he pressed his thumb to the fingerprint recognition pad, and waited for it to beep. Now he was cleared to enter. The glass doors whooshed open, and he quickly slipped inside before they closed behind him. This was a Biohazard Level 3 facility, which meant that no outside contaminants could enter the lab, or vice versa. With that in mind, a blast of chemicals immediately hit his entire body, decontaminating his clothes and skin. Greg stripped down until he was entirely naked, then hit the red button on the wall to his left. The shower drenched him in cold water, and shut off once he was thoroughly soaked. The overhead blow-dryer blasted a long gust of warm air over his entire body, until all the water had evaporated. Clean and dry, Greg dressed in the uniform that he found in the cubby-hole to his right—underwear, navy-blue jumpsuit, white lab coat, and the rest of his PPE. He walked through the next set of automatic doors, then grabbed a bottle of pheromone cologne on the table in front of him. He sprayed the stuff on his wrists, neck, and behind the ears—the usual spots. Finally, he was ready to work. Greg walked through the next set of doors, and into the laboratory.

Tina greeted him with a smile and a wave as she looked up from the xenomorph that was strapped down to the titanium examining table, its oblong head cut open to reveal the brain and the nerve connections. To be honest, she was cute, even behind her goggles. Her round face was lightly freckled, and her small lips were full and glossy. Unfortunately, her curly red hair was hidden underneath a blue surgical cap, and her small, smooth hands were covered by latex gloves. But this wasn't a social call. He was here to work. And even if it were, he long suspected that she hadn't ever been attracted to him. How could she have been? He was pudgy, balding, and over forty, while she was young and healthy. It sure was great that the Company hired him for his talent, and not his looks, or else he wouldn't have gotten within ten feet of her.

"So, what do you have for me?" he asked, walking to her side.

"I'm provoking neuromuscular impulses," she said brightly, gripping a blunt steel rod in her left hand. "Watch this."

Gently, she jabbed the rod into a spot on the brain's frontal lobe. Greg heard a faint buzz emanate from the rod, and then the creature's arm swung toward him.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, barely dodging the claws before they ripped the front of his lab coat. "Holy shit! That thing's alive?!"

"Yes, but it's heavily, heavily sedated," Tina said reassuringly. "It won't hurt you."

"It better not," Greg said with a nervous chuckle. "I know my insurance covers workplace accidents, but I don't think I could live it down if an unconscious xenomorph was the one that took me out."

"Big baby," Tina teased, pressing another spot on the frontal lobe. This time, the xenomorph's tail whipped across the air like a live electrical wire. Thankfully, it didn't spark, but it was just as dangerous.

"Damn," Greg exclaimed breathlessly. "Conscious or not, that freaks me the _fuck_ out."

"Me, too," Tina agreed, "but not for the same reasons."

"How so?" Greg asked, suddenly confused.

Tina looked sad and worried as she explained, "Because that spot on the frontal lobe corresponds to muscle movement in humans."

Greg nodded. "Yeah, that's creepy. But we already knew that, right? Because of the Engineers?"

Pensively, Tina replied, "Yes, but that's not what bothers me. If we can understand the xenomorphs' brains so easily, think about how easy it will be to control them."

"I see your point," Greg conceded, and he did. Every day, scientists like he and Tina were making breakthroughs that allowed them to understand xenomorphs better and better. Their bodies, their behavior, even (blech) their reproductive cycle. And he knew that his bosses wouldn't stop pushing him until they fully understood the creatures. "But we can't control them yet. At least not directly."

Just then, the automatic doors opened behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. When he turned around, he saw Nicolette Fletcher behind him, fully dressed in PPE. Of course.

"Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?!" he asked angrily.

"No, but I do like to keep them on their toes," she said with a bemused smile. Looking at the table, she flinched and said with disgust, "So, what are you working on?"

"Neuromuscular impulses," Tina said, holding up the steel rod. "Would you care for a demonstration?"

"No, thank you," Nicolette said uncomfortably, holding up her palms. "I just stopped by to invite you on a little research trip."

"Oh?" Greg asked, his interest peaked. "What kind?"

"A joint venture with the Colonial Marines," she said in a satisfied tone. "The military technology lab wants to test the 'rabbit'."

"Naturally," he said with some disdain.

It almost goes without saying that it wasn't really a rabbit. Rather, it was human male clone with approximately the same intelligence and instincts. The lab's plan was to let a xenomorph chase the test subject across a hunting ground, so it could capture and kill its victim. In that manner, the lab could both observe the xenomorph's hunting technique and acclimate it to a new environment—killing two birds with one stone.

"So where would we be going?" Tina asked.

"Zhawar Kili, in Afghanistan," Nicolette replied. "I trust you know why."

"Yes, we do," Greg said flatly. "Weyland's moving pretty quickly on this, isn't he?"

"Perhaps," Nicolette said cagily. "But the sooner we can test the xenomorphs, the sooner we can sic them after real targets. Given the terrorists' recent surge of violence, time is of the essence."

"True," Greg said, nodding. "So when would this be happening?"

"The day after tomorrow," Nicolette said. "That will give you plenty of time to pack your supplies, as well as finish any ongoing tests in your lab. We'll be leaving the company airfield promptly at 0700 hours. Please be ready."

"Yes, ma'am," Tina said with a sharp nod.

"Then I'll see you in two days," Nicolette said warmly. "Be well."

With one final look of disgust at the xenomorph on the examining table, Nicolette turned and walked out of the lab.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Tina nervously asked Greg, once Nicolette was gone.

"It's not a _bad_ one," he answered, somewhat unsurely. "If nothing else, we'll garner valuable research data."

"Yeah, but I don't trust her," Tina said, frowning.

"None of us do. But she is our superior, so, like it or not, we need to follow her lead."

Tina reluctantly nodded, not meeting his eyes. Greg could only hope that Nicolette didn't lead them to a bad end. He trusted the Company not to put him in harm's way, but that trust went only so far.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Two days later, as Nicolette had promised, she and the research team (along with six Colonial Marines, a xenomorph, and the "rabbit") left the airfield at 0700. Greg and Tina boarded the USCSS _Excalibur_ , then made their way to the passenger deck and strapped into their comfortable seats. The large ship lifted off from the airfield at Weyland-Yutani's satellite headquarters on Mars, Leo Colony, and headed for Earth.

A half-hour later, they were there. This time, though, Greg and Tina were restrained by yoke harnesses, in far less comfortable seats (but thankfully, the xenomorph was on another ship). The _Excalibur_ was holding steady in orbit, prepared to deploy a UD-4L Cheyenne Dropship from its hangar bay.

"Ready for this?" Greg asked Tina, who was strapped into the seat on his right.

"As I'll ever be," she said, not meeting his eyes. Greg was sure that was due to her nervousness, because he could see droplets of sweat beading on her face.

An intercom crackled, and a male voice said, "Dropship is a go for deployment. Ready to release in 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …"

Greg heard a loud clunk, and then they were falling. The intense G-Force cemented him against his seat, and it felt like an enormous weight was about to crush him; his flightsuit clung to him like a second skin. He grimaced and groaned against the overwhelming pressure on his body. Thankfully, the discomfort was brief. The dropship seemed to level off, and soon they were gliding through the sky above what he imagined was Afghanistan. He didn't know for sure, since this ship didn't have any windows. It was an older model, yes, but they didn't need anything fancy. After all, this was Earth, and its atmosphere was mild compared to some of the planets he had visited. Its climate was another matter.

Located in Khost province, Zhawar Kili was a region dominated by gray and white rock, and its terrain was rather mountainous. Two hundred years earlier, it might have been dotted with low vegetation, but that was long since dead. Even in May, the temperature was brutal, topping out at 105° F during the day. That might have been bearable in a first-world metropolis like San Francisco or London, but Afghanistan lacked urban comforts like air conditioning and insulation. Consequently, hundreds of its poor residents died each summer, and now the country's population was quite sparse. It was a grim testament to the terrorists' commitment that they were able to survive the harsh climate. Then again, they could afford the apparel and equipment necessary to combat its deadly effects. Thankfully, so could Greg and his companions.

Now decked out in radiation suits, they made their way to a cave entrance—a red brick archway set into the rock face. Nearby, two men from the research team pushed a wheeled crate that held the xenomorph. A woman led the "rabbit" by a leash hooked to his neck. Greg felt bad for the guy, knowing his impending fate. Through the facemask of the clone's radiation suit, Greg could see that he was confused and afraid, and his handler had to constantly tug on the leash to get him to walk faster. Clearly, the guy didn't want to be there. Who would, in that situation? Maybe it was best not to think of the "rabbit" as human, but Greg couldn't bring himself to do it. It would just be too cruel.

The team stopped right in front of the cave entrance, and one of the men turned to face the assembled group.

"Hi, I'm Mike Turner, team lead," he announced, giving them a little wave. "My colleagues and I have implanted subdermal tracking devices in both the xenomorph and the 'rabbit'. They're right along the spines, so neither of them can claw them out. We've also fitted tiny cameras into their right eyes, so we can see what they see as they navigate the caves. If all goes as planned, we'll retrieve the 'rabbit''s camera from its corpse, while the xenomorph's camera is linked to a handheld monitoring device that transmits the footage that the camera records."

Nicolette raised her hand.

"Yes, Ms. Fletcher?" Mike asked.

"How will you track the predator and prey while they are in the caves?" she asked coolly.

"With this," Mike replied, pulling a miniaturized M314 Motion Tracker out of his pants pocket. "The caves should be empty, so we won't have to worry about background noise."

"Of course," Nicolette said, darkly amused. "So, shall we begin?"

"Right."

Mike gestured to the men who accompanied the caged xenomorph, and they positioned the cage in front of the cave's entrance. The woman handler led the "rabbit" to the entrance, then placed her hands on its shoulders and stared into its eyes. She snapped her fingers, and it froze. After stepping away from it, she pulled a small cylinder out of her pocket, and pressed the button on top. The device emitted a sharp whistle, and the "rabbit" dashed into the cave.

"We'll give it a ten minute head start," Mike said. "That should be enough time for it to travel deep into the cave, but if not … well, we tried."

Mike chuckled, but Greg didn't find his statement very funny. Clone or not, this was still a life he was talking about. As the minutes passed, the xenomorph seemed to grow restless, as Greg could hear it hissing and banging against the bars of its cage. Finally, the allotted moment arrived, and the xenomorph's handlers stood to either side of the cage. One of them pushed a button on a remote, and the cage door swung open. Immediately, the xenomorph dashed into the cave, and out of sight.

Tina jumped at the sudden motion, and put a hand over her no-doubt beating heart. Every else simply stood and stared, as if all of it was perfectly normal.

"Can I ask a question?" she asked, both startled and confused.

"Sure," Mike said, turning to her.

"Why didn't the xenomorph attack us just now?"

"We've trained it to fixate on the 'rabbit''s scent," he explained. "That scent is like catnip to the xenomorph. The bug craves it, and won't stop until he kills the creature that produces it."

"An apt metaphor," Nicolette said, still amused.

"Thank you."

Greg, Tina, and Nicolette gathered around the man who held the motion tracker, while the rest of the research team watched the monitoring device. Meanwhile, the Marines kept lookout. No one was supposed to be living in the mountains around Zhawar Kili, but Nicolette wanted to be cautious. Greg couldn't blame her. From time to time, he looked up from the tracker to make sure no was approaching. Then he looked back at the tracker. The two test subjects appeared as white dots against a deep blue background. For the first few minutes, the "rabbit" appeared to slowly venture through the cave's tunnels. Greg imagined that its surroundings confused and frightened it. Hell, who wouldn't be frightened in that situation? Then it seemed to gain confidence, and moved more quickly down one of the paths. Meanwhile, the xenomorph sprinted down the tunnels, following the path that the "rabbit" had traversed. Soon, it had almost closed the distance between them. Fifteen meters, then twelve, then ten. The "rabbit" had moved down a passageway, but appeared to stop at a dead end. Maybe it thought itself safe from danger. Well, it wouldn't be safe for long. Sure enough, the xenomorph dashed down the same passageway, while the "rabbit" remained motionless. Five meters … four … three … two. Then the xenomorph was upon it, and both dots remained fixed for several minutes. Eventually, however, the xenomorph began to make its way back to the tunnel entrance, along the same path as earlier.

As it suddenly came into view, the woman handler pressed a button on a different cylinder, and the device emitted a lower whistle. The xenomorph stopped in its tracks, then ambled into the open cage. One of the men pressed the button on the remote, and the cage door swung shut.

"Wow, how did you train it so well?" Greg asked, amazed at the creature's obedience.

"Years of work," Mike said proudly, "and electroshock therapy."

Greg stared at him in surprise, his mouth agape.

"Hey, we're not saints here," Mike said defensively, but in a jovial manner. "We do whatever works."

Greg nodded, not happy about the Company's cavalier cruelty. He silently vowed to do better by the xenomorphs, whatever the cost.

As two of the researchers dashed into the cave to retrieve the "rabbit"'s camera eye, Nicolette turned toward the group. Smiling, she told them, "Excellent field test, ladies and gentlemen. Now let's return to headquarters and review our data. If Weyland deems it to be useful, we'll share our protocol with the Colonial Marines, and they'll implement it in a strike against a terrorist compound. I'm confident he'll say yes, but I don't count my chickens before they hatch. And neither should you. Let's go."

Greg, Tina, the remaining research team, and the Colonial Marines followed Nicolette back to the dropship. Once the other two researchers returned with the camera eye, they lifted off and returned to the _Excalibur_ , which was waiting for them in low Earth orbit.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Back in his lab, Greg's eyes were fixed to the video monitor as he watched the playback of the test run. The camera jerked a bit as the xenomorph dashed through the caves, and the night vision was a little too green, but the image was clear enough. Then the "rabbit" came into view, seeming terrified as it looked behind its shoulder at the monster in pursuit. The "rabbit" reached the dead end of passage, turned around, and pressed its back against the stone wall. Quaking just like the creature that inspired its name, the "rabbit"'s mouth silently opened and closed, as if trying and failing to scream. A few seconds later, though, the xenomorph was upon it, and the "rabbit" did appear to scream as the creature raked its claws across its victim's chest. Blood spurted across the front of the "rabbit"'s radiation suit, and Greg thought he could maybe make out the glistening heart in its ribcage. That could have just been blood, though. However, the guts were as clear as day as the xenomorph tore open the "rabbit"'s belly and began feasting. Greg forced himself to look at the video monitor as the xenomorph continued to ravage the "rabbit"'s innards. Soon, though, blood and viscera splattered the xenomorph's dome to the point where he couldn't see much of anything. After a few minutes, the xenomorph appeared to have its fill, as it turned around and made its way back up the dark tunnels. When it reached the cave entrance and the waiting cage, Greg stopped the video and clicked off the monitor.

"What do you think?" Greg asked Tina, who sat to his right.

"I think it's disgusting, and I can't understand how the research team gets off on this," she said, her cute face scrunched up in distaste. There were no specimens in the lab that day, so they didn't need to wear masks and caps. "Beyond that, I can't believe it has such a ravenous appetite. Mike and his team must have starved it before setting it loose after the 'rabbit'."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Greg said, sighing with disappointment. How in the hell was he still working with these sadists? Oh yeah, the exorbitant pay, which dwarfed anything he could hope to earn at a hospital or university. Greed sure was a vicious bitch. Looking at Tina, he continued, "At least the xenomorph didn't cocoon the poor bastard. The last thing we need is more of those suckers running around the caves."

"True," Tina agreed, thoughtful. "On the other hand, who would it hurt? Those caves have been abandoned for decades."

"Those caves, yes," Greg said, "but not the ones that the Marines plan to attack next. Nangarhar is still a hotbed of terrorist activity, and I'll bet that a nest of terrorists is a lot more enticing than a lone wolf. More xenomorphs plus more humans equals a shit ton of trouble."

Tina nodded worriedly, then replied, "Especially if they're not all terrorists. We all know how they love to hide behind their women and children."

"Good point," Greg said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Say, what do we know about xenomorphs' propensity for attacking children?"

"As far as we know, they don't discriminate," Tina said regretfully. "The best case example we have is Rebecca Jorden, more commonly known as 'Newt'. According to our records, a Facehugger attacked her when Carter Burke trapped her and Ellen Ripley in the Hadley's Hope medical facility on Acheron. Later, a xenomorph cocooned her inside the colony's Atmosphere Processor. All that happened back in 2179, and we learned of those events from a Bishop model android that we retrieved from a prison colony on Fiorina 161. At the time of the incidents in question, she was only six years old. And before you ask, no, a xenomorph didn't kill her. But again, that wasn't for lack of trying."

"So, how did Newt die?"

"Flooded cryo-chamber when an EEV crashlanded on Fiorina 161—the same EEV that was carrying Ellen Ripley, the Bishop android, and Marine Corporal Dwayne Hicks."

Greg looked up, silently musing. "I think I remember hearing that story. Michael Bishop ended up obtaining Ellen Ripley's DNA, right? Along with that of a newborn xenomorph?"

"Mm-hmm," Tina muttered, a concerned look on her face. "Not that it's any of my business. Anyway, isn't that information supposed to be classified?"

"Yeah, but word gets round," Greg said with a smirk. "Forget I said anything. But that sucks. I was hoping we could figure out some way to prevent the xenomorphs from killing innocents."

Greg and Tina sat silently for a few minutes, thinking. Then Tina's eyes suddenly lit up, and she smiled at her co-worker. Excitedly, she suggested, "Maybe we can."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked, confused.

"Remember what Mike said?" Tina asked, her eyebrows raised suggestively. "That he and his team trained a xenomorph to hunt the rabbit by first training it to recognize its scent?"

"Right."

"Well, how does a human produce that scent? Through sebaceous glands. And when do those glands develop?"

Now Greg's eyes lit up, and he smiled as he replied, "During puberty. So how do we use that information to our advantage?"

"It won't be easy, but here's what I'm thinking," Tina said, returning Greg's smile. "First, we need to procure four batches of clones—adult males, adult females, pre-pubescent males and pre-pubescent females. We acclimate a few xenomorphs to all of their scents, then punish them when they try to attack the children."

"What about the women?" Greg asked, almost incredulous at Tina's omission.

"Unfortunately, we can't be sure that they aren't complicit in the men's crimes," she reasoned. "So anyway, once we train the xenomorphs to kill only the adults, we then train them to rescue the children. Maybe we can inject them with a drug cocktail that boosts norepinephrine and oxytocin production while blocking corticosterone receptors. I don't know. We can figure that out later. Ultimately, once they're fully trained, we make sure that the military tech lab sends them on an attack mission with the rest of its xenomorphs."

"Sounds good," Greg said warily, again rubbing his chin. "But what's our cover story?"

"That we're helping the lab," she said plainly. "We'll explain that we want the xenomorphs to kill everyone, not just the men. After all, why take any chances?"

"Spoken like a true believer," Greg said with a mirthless chuckle. "Okay, I'm in. Let's draft a proposal."

Tina beamed at him, no doubt proud of herself for concocting such a brilliant plan. However, Greg knew that she shouldn't get _too_ excited. There was no reason to believe that the plan would work, and many reasons to believe that it wouldn't. He was sure that these tests would fail at first, and they would need to keep trying until they succeeded. Worse still, they were racing alongside the tech lab, as well as the clock. The timing would have to be impeccable. But like Tina said, they'd figure that out later. First, they had to procure the xenomorphs and "rabbits".


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

As they had hoped, Greg and Tina procured the test subjects without a hitch. Nicolette bought their cover story, and told them that she looked forward to seeing their experimental results. The early results were not promising. The xenomorphs mauled the men, women, and children without hesitation, even after repeated shock treatment. Then Greg and Tina tried a different tack—rewards. Every time a xenomorph neglected to maul a child, they would reward it with dog meat (for some reason, the bugs savored the stuff). It took several test rounds, but eventually the tactic worked. However, they knew they would eventually run out of meat, so they needed another tactic. That's when Tina hit on the idea of coating the children with xenomorph pheromones.

"Think about it," she explained to him one day, while a xenomorph happily cocooned an adult male clone on the other side of the observation window. "If we coat a large enough variety of children—boys and girls of different races—with xenomorph pheromones, the bugs will associate the scent of children with that of their own kind. Therefore, whenever they see children, they'll simply ignore them. At least, I hope so."

Thankfully, Tina hoped right. After a few such trials, the test xenomorphs ignored the children and attacked only the adults. With that part of the experiment successful, Greg and Tina moved on to the task of convincing the xenomorphs to actively protect the children. Greg suggested that they train one of the xenomorphs to attack the children, but Tina countered that they'd come too far to change even one individual's behavior. That's when Greg hit on the idea of a lie.

After pulling out his cell phone, Greg dialed Mike and waited for him to answer.

"Yello?" Mike responded on the third ring.

"Hey, it's Greg," Greg said. "Listen, one of our xenomorphs just isn't working out. No matter what we try, it just won't kill any of the 'rabbits'. Can we switch it out with one of yours?"

"Sure," Mike said, albeit reluctantly. "But what will we do with the dud that you give us?"

"I don't know," Greg said impatiently. "Train it to fetch unexploded land mines, or something. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"All right," Mike said resignedly. "Swing by my lab tomorrow morning, and we can make the switch."

So they did. After Greg brought the new xenomorph back to the neurophysiology lab, he and Tina set up a scenario wherein they released the new bug into a room inhabited by six children (white male, black male, Muslim male, and the corresponding females) and three trained xenomorphs. When the new bug tried to attack one of the children, one of the trained bugs fended it off while the other two began picking up the children and carrying them out of harm's way. Unfortunately, the new bug ended up killing one of the trained bugs, as well as two of the children (a white boy and a Muslim girl), so Greg and Tina had to gun it down with plasma pulse rifles before it did any further damage. Then they had to clean up the messes, of both the xenomorph and human varieties. But frankly, they were shocked that the experiment was so successful, and presumed that the xenomorphs' natural protective instincts were very strong.

Unfortunately, their happiness didn't last long. At the end of the workday, Greg's cell phone rang again. He looked at the caller ID, and saw that it was Nicolette. _Shit_ , he thought.

"Hello?" he answered pleasantly.

"Yes, I was just calling to check on your progress," Nicolette answered crisply.

"The experiment is going fine," he replied brightly, though his grin was forced. "Better than expected."

"That's wonderful to hear," she trilled delightedly. "May I stop by your lab tomorrow, to observe one of your sessions?"

"Uh, sure," he replied, glancing nervously at Tina. "We look forward to seeing you."

"And I you. Goodbye until then."

Nicolette hung up, and so did Greg.

"What was that about?" Tina asked, confused and concerned.

"Nicolette wants to observe one of our trials tomorrow," Greg said glumly.

"Fuck," she said under her breath. "How can we fudge the results in front of her? We can't procure a replacement xenomorph on such short notice."

"No," he said with a sigh, "but we can mask the children's scents with heavy doses of adult pheromones. Hopefully, that'll be enough to drive even our trained xenomorphs into a murderous frenzy."

Tina nodded sadly. "I hope you're right."

The next day, Nicolette called in the morning to say that she'd be dropping by that afternoon. Greg rounded up five clone children (three Muslim boys and two white girls), and sprayed them with pheromones while Tina held them in her arms. They squirmed vigorously, but Tina gently shushed them until they became relatively calm. Then Greg and Tina ushered them onto the testing ground, where a caged xenomorph was lying in wait. As Nicolette's arrival approached, the xenomorph became antsy, charging at the cage's bars in an attempt to get to its prey.

"Shit, I hope this works," Tina said worriedly, biting her already-short nails.

"Me, too, me, too," Greg fretted as he paced the length of the observation room.

Just then, Nicolette knocked, and Greg walked over to the keypad to press the button that opened the door. She strode in liked she owned the place, and in a way, she did. Nicolette _was_ their direct supervisor, after all.

"So, what do you have for me?" she asked, sweeping her long blonde hair over the shoulder of her navy-blue suit coat.

"Observe," Greg said, pulling a remote out of his pocket and pressing the big red button.

On the other side of the observation window, the xenomorph dashed out of its cage, and rushed the nearest Muslim boy. The poor soul didn't have a chance. After leaping onto the boy's chest, the bug punctured the victim's neck with its inner mandibles, killing him instantly. Downed, the boy just laid there as the bug raked its claws across his torso, spilling his guts. Furiously, the bug ran toward the oldest of the white girls, then raked a clawed hand across her neck. Blood sprayed from it as the girl fell, and the bug pounced on her once she was on the ground. Then it clawed open her guts as well, and began feasting. Sated, the bug ambled back into its cage, and Greg pressed the blue button to close it. The remaining three children cowered in one corner of the room, with the lone girl hugging and stroking one of the boys. It would have been sweet if they weren't so absolutely terrified.

"Excellent," Nicolette said with a proud smile, evidently satisfied with the trial's outcome. "Please send it over to the tech lab tomorrow morning, so Mike's team can load it onto the _Excalibur_."

"Will do," Greg said, with all the cheeriness he could muster.

With a smile and a nod. Nicolette turned around and left the room. Greg closed the door behind her, then turned to Tina.

"Are we really going to hand that bug over to Mike?" she asked worriedly.

"Of course not," Greg answered. " _That_ bug's been compromised. We'll send another one of ours, and hope that he doesn't notice its unusual temperament."

"How many do even we have left?" she replied, somewhat bewildered.

"Only two," he said regretfully, holding up the requisite number of fingers. "Suffice it to say, it would be best if we ended our experiment, and not a moment too soon."

Tina's face looked pained as she nodded her assent. "I hope everything goes according to plan."

"Me, too," Greg said once again. "Me, too."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Greg and Tina got up at 6 a.m. the next morning and dressed in spacesuits. After entering the storage room of their lab, they removed a trained xenomorph and wheeled the cage out to the airfield. Mike was waiting for them when they arrived.

"Thanks, pal," Mike said to Greg, as a man in a power loader picked up the caged xenomorph and carried it into the cargo bay of the _Excalibur_. Like Greg and Tina, the other men wore spacesuits. "This is a big help."

"Happy to oblige," Greg said with a smile, and he meant it. He'd be even happier if his and Tina's experiment succeeded in the field.

"You gonna watch the big show?" Mike asked, cocking his head.

"Isn't it practically mandatory?" Tina retorted. "I received, like, three emails about it in my priority inbox—two from Nicolette and one from Weyland himself."

Mike waved off her concerns. "Nah, they're just psyched about it, that's all. It's what they've been working toward for the last few years. A quality field test of their prized bioweapon, with the full support of the United States military. I mean, who wouldn't be pumped, right?"

"Yeah," Greg said worriedly. "Just take good care of that xenomorph, all right?"

"Relax, it's in great hands," Mike said, with a wink and a thumbs-up. "We're about ready to board, so you'd better clear out. I'll see you when we get back."

He clapped Greg on the shoulder, then turned and strode into the _Excalibur_ 's cargo bay. Greg and Tina walked off the airfield and back into the research station, and the former thumbed the door shut behind them.

"Well, there's no turning back now," Tina said resignedly, as the _Excalibur'_ s bay door closed. "All we can do is watch and wait."

"Right," Greg said. "I suppose that goes for all of us … for better or worse."

Tina nodded sadly as she leaned against the door and looked out the small window. Beyond it, the _Excalibur_ had started its engines, and was now rising into the atmosphere—engines loudly rumbling and thrusters burning bright.

"Let's walk over to the auditorium," Tina proposed. "Hopefully there are two seats left."

Greg nodded, and they walked down the hall and toward the viewing party.

The viewing party was held in a large screening room, about the size of one you'd find in a 21st Century movie theater. Instead of a screen, though, the room featured several monitors mounted on the long wall at the front. When Greg and Tina arrived, those monitors were tuned to test patterns. That wouldn't be the case for long. The two colleagues took their seats near the middle of the room, then leaned back and waited for the show to begin. Around them, their fellow co-workers chatted excitedly about the counter-terrorism project. Some of them were dressed in lab uniforms, like Greg and Tina, while others wore business suits. All of them looked healthy and happy, without any cares in the world. Greg wished he could have said the same.

Suddenly, Weyland himself stood up from his seat in the front row, then turned around to face the assembled audience.

"Good morning, everyone," he boomed, spreading his arms in greeting.

"Good morning!" the crowd enthusiastically replied. Well, most of them, anyway. Some of them weren't yet fully awake.

"I'm glad that you could join us for this momentous occasion," Weyland said proudly. "Right now, the USCSS _Excalibur_ is on its way to Earth to drop off a Colonial Marines strike team in Afghanistan—specifically, the Achin district of the Nangarhar province. Our military technology lab—led by Mike Turner—will be handling the attacking xenomorphs and supervising their deployment and retrieval. They should all arrive in the area within the next half-hour, and begin operations shortly thereafter. In the meantime, let me tell you a little bit more about the operation. First of all, it's a two-pronged attack. The Marines will ambush the terrorists from one entrance, while our lab will release the xenomorphs at another. Thus pinned down, the terrorists will have nowhere to run. Ideally, then, we'll be able to wipe them all out, with as few casualties on our end as possible. And when I say all, I mean _all_. Women, children, the whole lot of them. We can't take any chances."

Greg looked over at Tina, who looked at him knowingly. _Hopefully not the children_ , he thought.

"That's all there is to it, really," Weyland continued. "It's a simple objective, but complicated to pull off. If we do, though, it will mean greater prestige for all of us. Now let's sit back and hope that everything goes off without a hitch. At this point, it's all we can do."

So they did. As the remaining minutes passed, elevator muzak piped into the room, presumably to put everyone in a good mood. Perhaps that worked for most of the employees, but it didn't work for Greg. He just grew more impatient—and anxious. Finally, the lights dimmed, and all of the monitors flickered over to live feeds from Afghanistan. Some of them showed the rocky exterior of the cave networks, and others the insides of the cave entrances. However, most of them seemed trained on the bars of xenomorph transport cages, as the creatures waited for their handlers to release them. Above the monitors, a digital display counted down the seconds. 10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … 5 … 4 … 3 … 2… 1 …

The cage bars raised, and-like greyhounds at the starting gates—the xenomorphs rushed out of their prisons and into the dark maze of the caves.

First row, far left: The xenomorph did not encounter any life for the first few minutes, but seemed determined to reach a target. Then, suddenly, a bearded man wearing a robe and keffiyeh popped out of the darkness, and the bug leapt for his jugular. Blood and viscera flew as the bug tore out the man's throat, then continued feasting.

Second row, far right: A xenomorph quickly reached what looked to be a family unit—man, woman, and young boy. The bug speared the woman's chest with a clawed arm, then ripped out the man's throat with the other. Finally, without missing a beat, it leapt at the boy and punched through his forehead with its inner mandibles.

Third, row, middle: A xenomorph encountered a woman and her younger daughter … then stopped. The two humans stood frozen, terrified, as the bug circled them—as if determining whether or not they were threats. The bug stopped behind the woman, then suddenly leapt onto her back and punched its inner mandibles through the back of her skull. The bug clung to her as she fell, then clambered off. Sobbing with grief, the young girl began to slowly back away from the bug, fearful of what it might do to her. However, grief turned to terror as the bug slowly approached. As the girl protectively put her arms over her fear-stricken face, the bug raised its oblong head to sniff it. Despite the seeming lack of a nose on the creature, there was no other word for the behavior. Then, in one fluid motion, the bug scampered toward the girl and … picked her up into its arms. Its mission achieved, the bug raced toward the exit tunnel.

Greg was shocked. The field test was successful. However, he quickly forced himself to appear neutrally-focused on the screens in front of him. He didn't want to betray his secret—that is was _he_ who had trained that xenomorph to rescue the girl, rather than kill her. So, he leaned forward in his chair as the carnage unfolded.

Second row, far left: A xenomorph dragged its unconscious prey—a young adult male—to the side of the cave tunnel, and began the cocooning procedure. After hauling the limp man to his feet, the bug reared back its head and vomited resin onto his chest. It repeated the procedure over his face and the rest of the body, until the man was plastered to the cave wall.

First row, far right: A xenomorph clung to the ceiling, observing its unsuspecting prey—a robed woman in a hijab—from above. Suddenly, it spit acid from its mouth, which hit the woman's back and began to burn through her skin. Immobilized, the woman cried out in pain as the bug leapt down from the ceiling and pierced through her body with its speared tail. Its victim now dead, the bug sharply withdrew its tail, and the woman fell to the ground.

Greg looked back at that screen on the third row, just in time to see his xenomorph carry two more children through the cave exit. When it dropped them to the sandy ground, Greg saw that they were two young boys of roughly the same age.

Soon enough, all of the cave residents were either dead or—in the case of some of the children—rescued. At the cave exits, the Lieutenant in charge of the strike flashed a thumbs up to the camera, to signal that his team had successfully completed the mission. In the screening room, everyone clapped, whooped, and hollered, joyous over the important victory. Everyone, that is, but Greg and Tina. From her spot at the front, Nicolette looked suspiciously in their direction before giving each of them a subtle nod. Greg swallowed his fear, then looked over at Tina. She, too, looked frozen with shock. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him.

"We'll get through this," he said to her softly, though not with absolute confidence.

She nodded, then stood up and followed her co-workers out of the screening room. Silently, Greg followed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Greg and Tina were halfway down the hallway when Nicolette called out to them.

"Stop right there!" she yelled furiously.

They did so, then slowly turned around, only to find her wide-eyed and fuming.

Jabbing her finger at them, Nicolette added, "I want to see you both in my office, right now! Follow me!"

With that order, she strode past them, then shot a glance over her shoulder to make sure that they obeyed. Taking deep breaths, Greg and Tina quickly strode to catch up with her, then followed her through the twisting hallways until they reached a large set of oaken double doors. Nicolette angrily pulled them open, then marched to the third door on the right. She was gentler in opening that one, but not by much. Respectfully, Greg and Tina stood by the door as Nicolette sat down at her large, black desk.

"Please, sit," Nicolette commanded with restrained anger, gesturing toward the leather chairs in front of her.

The two of them did so, as Nicolette straightened her navy-blue jacket and clasped her hands atop her desk.

"Now," she said with a cold smile, "would one of you please tell me what the _fuck_ that was all about?"

"What … what do you mean?" Greg asked nervously.

"Don't play dumb with me," Nicolette said. "I know it was you. Mike Turner told me all about your xenomorph swap. I'll bet you thought you were being clever, that you could pull a fast one on us. Clearly, you were wrong. So, I want some answers, before I get _really_ angry."

"We only wanted to prove a point," Tina said quickly, taking Nicolette at her word. "That xenomorphs weren't just killing machines. That we could train them to help people."

"And why would you want to do that?" Nicolette asked, with false politeness. "Hmm? You know why Weyland wanted control of them, and yet you still decided to deviate from the project. I should fire the both of you right now. But I won't, because the big attack mission was still successful—despite your meddling. Still, I can't let you leave here without punishing you. What will it be, Greg?"

"Me?" Greg asked, surprised. Not that he should have been. Nicolette interacted with him more than Tina, and probably assumed that he was the point person on the unofficial experiment. If so, she was right. "I guess you can demote me. I'd even be willing to work in Janitorial. Just please, let me continue to work for this company. I've put in so much time here, I don't want to start over."

Nicolette tapped her chin thoughtfully as she looked at him askance. "Nice try, but we still need your expertise. However, you are right to want to debase yourself, and that has given me an idea. Since you've effectively neutered one of our xenomorphs through your little stunt, how about I neuter _you_? And 'spay' your partner, as well?"

"What?" Greg asked, horrified. "You can't do that!"

"No shit!" Tina exclaimed, incredulous and equally horrified. "That's torture!"

"Well, you're right that I can't do it myself," Nicolette said with a cruel chuckle. "But I _can_ order a doctor to sterilize the both of you. And that is just what I'll do."

Before Greg and Tina could protest further, she quickly dialed a number on her holophone, and the foot-tall image of a bald, fat man sprung up from the projector. He was dressed in a doctor's lab coat and slacks, and his posture was immaculate.

"Dr. Olmstead, I'd like to schedule sterilization appointments for two of my underlings," she said briskly. "First thing tomorrow morning."

"How about 7:30 a.m.?" the doctor asked.

"Perfect," she replied emotionlessly. "They'll see you then."

Nicolette pressed a button to end the call, then folded her hands on her desk and stared at Greg and Tina. The latter looked furious, her face flushed and her lip trembling as her eyes looked to be on the verge of tears.

"You bitch!" Tina shouted at Nicolette. "You won't get away with this!"

"I already have," Nicolette replied, seemingly amused by the other woman's distress. "And don't think about running away. If you try, security will shoot you on the spot. I'm sure that none of us wants that to happen, so it would be best if you quietly suffer your fates. I'll see you tomorrow."

Greg and Tina sat frozen in shock, so Nicolette made a little brushing-off motion with her hand. Finally, they both stood, then shuffled out of her office.

Out in the hallway, Greg turned to Tina and said hopelessly, "I … God, what do we do now?"

"Just what that bitch ordered us to do," she said morosely. "And then we get on with our lives."

"So we just surrender?!" Greg exclaimed in disbelief.

"You heard what she said!" Tina replied, her voice cracking with sorrow. "Security will kill us if we don't! Let's … let's just go to our lab."

"And do what?"

Tina shrugged. "I don't know. Dissect a xenomorph head, or something. I'd still like to study its electroreceptors, as well as the dorsal spines."

Greg nodded. He'd always been curious about those physical features, too. With a sigh, he said, "Okay. At least it'll take our minds off tomorrow's appointments."

So, without waiting for him, Tina walked on ahead, and Greg trotted to catch up with her before falling into step alongside.

The next morning, bright and early, Greg lay on the operating table, naked from the waist down and with an IV stuck in one arm. His mind drifted as the medicine took effect, while the nurse shaved his testes and wiped them down with an antiseptic. _How did I get here?_ he thought helplessly. _And where do I go now?_ Deep down, he knew that the vasectomy would not ruin his life. In the moment, though, he felt like his life was over—and in a sense, it was. He could never be a father, with Tina (if she was even interested) or any other woman. Still, he had his work, so perhaps that was for the best. And he could always adopt a clone, if his bosses would let him. Lord knew there were enough of those poor souls to go around. Distantly, Greg felt a sharp twinge as the nurse injected a local anesthetic into his scrotum, but little pain. Likewise, his scrotum merely ached as she cut it open with a scalpel, followed by the two vas deferens tubes. The microlaser would have felt mildly warm as the nurse sealed the ends of the tubes, if Greg had been aware at that point of the procedure. As it was, his mind was almost clear by the time she put the tubes back in his scrotum and stitched the sac closed. While she draped a cloth over the lower half of his body, he fell asleep.

Hours later, after he had awoken and dressed himself, Greg walked to the waiting room to look for Tina. There she was in a white plastic chair, her hands upon her belly. She smiled as she looked up to see him approach, but it was a wan smile.

"Guess this means we can't have kids," she said to him, with a mirthless chuckle.

"Did you want to?" he asked, mildly hopeful.

"No, I was just joking," she replied, shaking her head.

"Thought so."

With mild regret, Greg gazed at Tina as she softly rubbed the spot where the gynecologist must have made an incision.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked with concern. "You know, you shouldn't be doing that."

"I know," she said. "But don't worry, I'm not touching the incision point. Still, the pain's gonna be killer for a while, and I won't be able to work for a week. Hope you're okay with that."

"I'll manage," he said, then walked over and sat down next to her. With a sigh, he looked over and asked, "The question is, will _you_? Do you really still want to work here after all that's gone down?"

Tina shrugged. "What choice do we have? No one else is going to hire us once the Company tells them what we did. Let's face it, they've got us by the balls—no pun intended."

She winced as she realized her mistake, but Greg smiled and shook his head. "None inferred. And anyway, I agree with you. We're stuck. From now on, we'll have to toe the Company line. But maybe we inspired someone else to take up our project, if they realized what we had done."

"They wouldn't know it was us, though," Tina said, frowning.

"True," Greg replied, "but it wouldn't matter. The message. _That's_ what's most important. And _that's_ what came across loud and clear."

Tina smiled more brightly, then clapped him on the shoulder. "You always know what to say to a girl."

Greg laughed at that, then stood up and cocked his head toward the exit. Following his cue, she walked alongside him as they left the medical center—heads held high.

The End


End file.
